


Lost Cause

by Silverleaf22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Childhood Friends, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, F/M, Friendship, Harry Potter Next Generation, Healer Draco Malfoy, Healing, Post-War, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Potions, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Relationship(s), Romance, St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverleaf22/pseuds/Silverleaf22
Summary: Draco Malfoy's life fell apart after the war. He wants to be a better person, but when cold glares are his only greeting, the effort feels futile. As a familiar witch from his past shows up, Draco starts to notice change, yet he fears their love is a ticking time bomb. Only Draco is capable of saving what is most dear to him, but sometimes he wonders if he is enough.





	1. A Reunion

          Draco raised the heart of a dragon up to his eye.  Well, to be more exact, Draco examined a dragon’s left ventricle under a magnifying glass.  It was important to check for impurities before using any part of a dragon in potions.  Verifying its quality, Draco sliced the ventricle into strips and dumped them into his cauldron, turning the broiling mixture inside a pleasant shade of plum.

          Rubbing his hands together, Draco reached for a stirring rod when the arrival of a paper airplane interrupted him.  The avian memo stopped in front of Draco’s nose.  Eyes crossing, Draco swiped the memo from the air and opened it.  

       _3 pepperup potions please!_

_-Meryl_

          Draco smirked at the sender.  Only Meryl, the 60-something secretary at St. Mungos, would have the humor to send a memo that demanded attention so incessantly.  Draco penned a quick response and went to work. 

          Draco moved his current cauldron over and pulled out a new one, rolling up his sleeves and revealing a large tattoo on his left forearm.  At nine a.m., St. Mungos was already running at full throttle, and the current flu and cold season made the number of patients increase exponentially.  Draco would never understand why there was only one magical hospital in the entirety of the United Kingdom, but it wasn’t his job to question things.  His job was to brew solutions.

          Five pepperup potions later—Draco brewed a couple extra for good measure—and back out came Draco’s earlier concoction.  The plum color had shifted to an uneasy violet, so Draco decided to pull out a few prunes and plop them in.  He smiled at the change in color.  Potion making was certainly an exact “science” of sorts, but the amount of freedom experimentation allowed was exciting. 

          It was not long before another memo came in.  Draco put his cauldron back up and began working on the new request.  And then another one came.  And then another and another.  Quickly, the hours slid together, Draco in a frenzy of work.  Potions made sense to Draco in a way that people did not.  With a potion, as long as Draco added the right ingredients and stirred his concoction the correct number of times, things would remain stable.  But people were unpredictable.  No matter how close Draco was to a person, there was always the chance that they would turn on him.  Maybe that was Draco’s fault, but with potions, Draco knew he had the burden of blame.

         As Draco was placing a flask of stinksap over a burner for distillation, there was the sound of clicking heels coming down his hallways, a distracting noise to say the least.  Healers wore sensible shoes at St. Mungos, so who could this be?  Draco did not get to look until she was right in the doorway

        And there she was.  Unwavering. Perfect.  Just like he had remembered her.  

        “Astoria,” Draco breathed. 

        Astoria grinned, pushing a lock of jet-black hair behind her ear.  “Hey, Draco.”

        Draco wiped a filthy hand on his robes and held it out for Astoria to shake.  Though she scrunched her nose slightly, Astoria came up and heartily shook her old friend’s hand, ever the lady.  “What are you doing here?”

        “Oh, just visiting my aunt.  She’s spent the past couple days in the ‘magical bug’ wing, and I thought she could use some company.”

        “Yes, but what are you doing here?” Draco asked.  St Mungo’s never listed the potion-making basement on the public floorplans.  Even if it did, Draco had kept his employment at St. Mungos a quiet affair.  Most wizards that Draco knew assumed he lived a frivolous life, spending family money in self-imposed isolation.

        “What?  Am I not allowed to come visit a friend?”  Astoria crossed her arms and pouted in her ever-familiar manner.

        “First off, patients and visitors actually aren’t allowed down here,” Draco said, “but you know that’s not what I’m asking.”

        Astoria relaxed her arms.  “If you must know, I heard one of the healers say the word ‘Draco,’ and I knew there was only one wizard unfortunate enough to have that name—”

        “—Your name is literally Astori—”

        “—so I asked her, and she sent me here.  The nametag said Lor...?”

        “Lorraine, but call her Lori if you want to get on her good side,” Draco said.  

        Astoria laughed, but did not say anything else.  Draco was content drinking in the presence of Astoria.  He knew that his special potion was quickly curdling as it’s stable bubbling turned into a rolling boil, but in that moment, he did not care.

        “It’s been a while,” Astoria said. 

        “Five years.”  Draco did not mean to sound bitter.  He had no justification.  No concrete history between him and Astoria.  There had never been romance.  Just conversations.  A friendship.  Yet Astoria had been a presence unlike any other at Hogwarts.  A girl who noticed and valued the gentler things in Draco back when everyone praised his cunning.  And when everything in Draco’s life had gone downhill so drastically all those years ago, Astoria’s absence had hurt more than he anticipated.

        “I only got back a few months ago.  It’s a lame excuse, but after avoiding the terror everyone went through, it felt unfair to come back, unaffected by the war.”

        “Why did you come back then?” Draco asked.

        Astoria sighed, looked around Draco’s dingy lab with its elaborate walls of tubing so Draco could instantly deliver potions across the hospital and its cluttered shelves full of questionable substances.  “Did you hear that my mother died?”

        Draco blinked.  “No.  I-um, I’m sorry.” 

        “It’s alright,” Astoria said. “She died around a year and a half ago actually.  Daphne and I tried staying away from here, but with Mom gone, I guess Korea wasn’t home.”

        Draco nodded his head.  He put a stirring rod in the cauldron to appear busy.

        “But who wants to talk about stuff like that?  If you don’t mind me asking, what are you working on?” Astoria asked, leaning to look into Draco’s cauldron.

        “You’re leaning over noxious fumes” Draco said, pulling her gently away from the cauldron. “And I’m experimenting.”

        “Oh fun, does St. Mungos like that you’re brewing poison in their dungeon?” Astoria teased.

        Draco chuckled.  “It’s a basement, and in potion making, it normally takes a couple tries to brew something that won’t kill you.”

        “What are you trying to brew then?” Astoria asked, holding herself back from putting her head back over the mysterious concoction.

        “That’s for me to know,” Draco said with a slight smirk.  He could never resist the urge to mess with her.

        Astoria rolled her eyes.  “Still the same Draco I see.”

        “You know it.” Draco continued smiling despite the dull pang in his chest.

        Astoria approached a shelve full of full and empty bottles and vials.  She picked up one vial with an amber liquid suspended in glycerin, her curved nails clinking against the glass.  “I didn’t see you at the Flint’s party last Friday.”

        “It’s been a while since I’ve been to any parties,” Draco said.  He took Astoria’s vial, and uncorked it, swishing the substance around three times before dumping it in the cauldron. 

        “That’s what they told me when I asked, which still surprises me.  I remembered you loving those things, enchanting the room without fail.  Not that there was much competition back then though,” Astoria said.

        Draco threw a towel over his shoulders.  “I’m just not like that anymore.  Although I distinctly remembered you sulking in the corner at all those parties, so why choose to go to one?”

        Astoria pouted, able to detect the hint of judgement.  “I mainly went to see Phoebe, Marcus’ sister.  She was one of the nice ones.”

        “You’re right.”  Draco hummed a long tone and bounced on the balls of his feet, tapping his wand periodically on the cauldron.  He caught Astoria’s pout slipping a little bit at his silly behavior.  In all honesty, potion making never needed such strange wandwork, but Astoria had been horrid at potions in Hogwarts.  Draco knew he could get away with being silly in the name of magic.  “Mother kept a good friendship with Mrs. Flint in case there was a future with me and Phoebe.”

        “Oh really?” Astoria questioned.  “Sorry to inform you then, but Phoebe’s engaged to a shiny new wizard from Switzerland.”

        “As heartbroken as that news leaves me, I think I’ll make it.  I never really had a thing for girls with curly hair.”

        Astoria swatted Draco’s arm.  “Rude.”

        “Oh come on, I’m kidding!” Draco held out his arms in surrender.

        Astoria raised an eyebrow.

        “Seriously!  I have grown from my old ways.  The person before you is a new man, Miss Greengrass,” Draco insisted.  The cauldron beside them was beginning to shake.  Draco eyed it uncertainly.  Maybe adding that purified venom wasn’t the smartest choice. 

        Unaware of the unstable mixture, Astoria continued with their banter.  “Oh really?  Well then—”

        Draco pointed his wand at the cauldron.  “Protego Maxima!”  A blue force field encompassed the cauldron right as its contents began to boil over in a rather corrosive manner, eating away at the edges of the cauldron it was spilling over.

        Astoria stared at the failed experiment.  “Can you promise me you’re not brewing poison?”

        “I can promise you I’m not brewing poison on purpose,” Draco said, “Can you vanish what’s inside the field for me?”

        Nodding her head, Astoria slipped her wand out of her robe pockets and easily erased the mess before Draco’s spell broke. 

        “Thank you.” Draco opened up a cabinet and pulled out an extra cauldron, leaving ten more waiting for him. 

        “No problem, but is this a common occurrence?” Astoria asked, pointing her wand at a spot where some of the escaped mixture had burned a hole through the table.

        Draco shrugged.  “Do you count weekly as common?”

        Astoria shook her head and smiled.  Draco walked over to his many shelves of ingredients and pulled out a few staples.  Through his research, he knew at least the base three ingredients to start the potion off with.  Walking back to his worktable, Draco stole a look at Astoria.  Since last seeing her when she was 15, Astoria had grown a lot.  She had always been beautiful.   One of the main reasons Jacob Greengrass courted Astoria’s mother was for her beauty.  But this was different.  Like… like her appearance was finally worthy of her personality. 

        “I count that as a sign you need to get out more,” Astoria said.

        “I’m fine here in my basement,” Draco said.

        Astoria tilted her head to the side.  “Seriously, what happened?  I’m glad you’re doing work you actually care about now, but this one-eighty in sociability is strange.”

        “A lot changed after you and your sister left.”  Astoria’s eyes flickered down Draco’s arms where his sleeves were rolled up from work.   Draco yanked the sleeves down, pulling the left down before the right. 

        “You’re right.” Astoria’s wrist twitched.  “I don’t have a right to expect everything to be the same.”

        A memo flew into the room.  Draco plucked it from the air and read its contents.  Again, he switched cauldrons and began the new potion.  He cleared his throat.  “Don’t hold it against yourself.  If I could have left, I would have too.”

        Astoria smiled.  “It’s so good to see you again.”

        “It’s good to see you too.”


	2. It's Not Flaking Out if I Never Intended on Going

            The foyer of Malfoy Manor was a grand, barren room that did an excellent job of connecting the house together and collecting dust.  Besides the massive staircase leading to numerous bedrooms that had remained untouched for years, there was also a large hearth with an ornate clock hanging above it. The clock read the time as 3:58, not that the only wizard in the house was aware of that. 

            Stuffed into the study in the back corner of the manor, bent over his desk, Draco intently turned a large moonstone over in his hand, studying the crystal through a magnifying glass.  According to certain passages in the _Hermetic Journal_ , a book Draco had recently picked up from Borgin & Burkes, Draco believed that a pinch of crushed up moonstone might just be the key to achieving the whitening process of the potion Draco was currently experimenting with.  Though he had yet to reach that step of the process. 

           The moonstone glittered under the light of Draco’s wand.  On the table behind him, there was a lantern illuminating the “Curious Crystals” page of _The Encyclopedia for Magic and Nonmagic Substances._ An absolutely riveting read.

            One reason why Draco had moved the study to the back of the manor was because people had to walk through many heavy doors to get to the stuffy room.  Many heavy doors meant a lot of noise, which meant a higher chance of Draco noticing someone’s approach. 

            So when the door to Draco’s study opened, he was prepared.

            “Hildey, how many times have I asked you to knock?” Draco turned his chair to face the door.  “Oh.”

            Or so he thought.

            “Hey, Blaise.” Draco raised his hand in a limp wave.

            “Don’t sound so excited to see me. You’re making me blush.”  Blaise placed a hand on his cheek.  Even in the dim lighting, Draco could see the mocking bashful expression. 

            “Sorry if I don’t sound thrilled.  You _did_ interrupt me.”

            Blaise ignored Draco and waltzed into the study, opening the drapes.

            Draco grimaced against the light.  “Dude, what the heck are you doing?”

            “What does it look like?  Bringing light into this place.  You know that keeping a room dark makes it look smaller.”

            “But I need darkness to properly view this moonstone under the magnifying glass”

            Blaise stopped opening a curtain when a cloud of dust flew into his face.  “ _Cough, cough._ Do you even- _cough-_ hear yourself right now?”

            “It’s all routine stuff for work.”

            “Yeah?  What time did you wake up?”

            “Maybe eight or so…”

            “Uh-huh, it’s four in the afternoon.  I was going to come earlier, but I was trying to give you the chance to finish this egghead stuff and save your dignity.”

            Draco threw his magnifying glass in a drawer.  “You aren’t bruising my ego if I’m not ashamed.”

            “Whatever, it’s your ignorance, not mine.”  Blaise rubbed the drapes between his fingers—a noticeable bottle green now that natural light was hitting them.

            “Don’t do that, you’ll get oil on them.”

            Blaise stretched out the drapes further, letting them hit the light.  “These can’t be more than twenty three galleons.  I’ll buy replacements if I ruin them.”  He tied the bottom corners of the fabric around his neck, creating a cape rising into the air.  One hand on his hip and one fist punching the sky, Blaise reminded Draco of those comic covers Flint would steal from first years. 

            Draco laughed.  Goofing off with grace had always been one of Blaise’s special talents—a talent Draco was resentful of in school.  Now, Draco could not appreciate it enough.

            “Alright, I’ll bite.  What does the great Blaise Zabini want from me now?” Draco asked when he tired of Blaise’s superhero posturing.

            “What?  A guy can’t just come over to see his best mate unannounced?” Blaise put a hand to his heart.  “You hurt me.”

            Draco propped his legs up on his desk and returned to examining the moonstone in his hand.

            Blaise shrugged his shoulders, the cape shimmering in the light with each movement.  “Fine, Mary’s been bothering me to go to this muggle thing called ‘the cinema’ with her for weeks and I was wondering if you wanted to come along.”

            “You want me to tag along on one of your dates with Mary to go see… Muggle entertainment?” Draco asked

            “It’s not a date.  There will be lots of people going.”

            Draco looked up.  “Meaning lots of Mary’s friends?”

            Blaise winked and pointed at Draco.  “Ah, can’t get one past you, can I?  Now will you please agree to go?”

            “As long as you promise that I’m doing this to save you from an evening of estrogen and not that you’re trying to set me up again.  Because we both know how that went last time.”

            Blaise chuckled.  “I don’t even know how her hair caught fire.”  The men both laughed at the memory that had faded into a humorous story with time.  Although at the time, explaining to Ministry Obliviators why they had been called at eleven to obliviate the thirty muggles on scene was embarrassing. 

            “But seriously, this isn’t a setup?” Draco checked.

            “A setup with a girl? No.  A setup to get you out of the house? Maybe.”  Blaise chuckled a little at his own joke, but Draco could sense the hint beneath the teasing.  There was a reason why Draco had not heard from Blaise since Thursday.

            Draco stood up and stretched out his back.  “Come on, you can lecture me while I go out to water the flowers.” 

            “I thought the house-elf was in charge of that.”

            “She has the day off when I’m not working.  And there’s a few specimens that I care for personally.”  Thanks to a certain bushy-haired witch, the Ministry of Magic has passed legislation a couple years ago that required house-elves to be given at least one day off a month.  Surprising even himself a little, Draco was not angry when he heard the decision.  Maybe Draco’s last encounter with his late elf, Dobby, had affected Draco more than he had realized.  Witnessing that display of true friendship come from a creature that Draco had ordered to—Draco grimaced at the memory—close his hands in the door among other things had subverted Draco’s expectations to say the least. 

            Draco led Blaise through the drawing room and into the gardens.  The courtyard was edged with vibrant foliage that brightened even the dreariest of English weather.  Waist length hedges linked the main gathering place to the rest of the property, including the shiny new greenhouses that blocked the horizon.  

            He took out his wand.  “ _Aguamenti_.” 

            Blaise watched for a moment before doing the same. 

            “You didn’t come to Flint’s party Friday.” Blaise said.

            There it was

            “Nope.”

            “You said you would.” 

            “Things got busy at Mungos now that flu season’s been coming around.”

            “Uh-huh, like with that outbreak of Dragon Pox a couple months ago when you said you’d go to Travers’ birthday dinner?”

            Draco pressed his lips together.  “See?  You know how it is.”

            The flowers quenched, Draco made his way towards the greenhouses.  His favorite part of the Manor.  

            “I just don’t see what the big deal is.  It’s one dinner.  Just to prove you haven’t fallen off the face of the earth and died,” Blaise said.

            “I can give you a written statement confirming my not-being-dead and a fingernail clipping if that’ll make you happy.”  Draco opened the door to the first greenhouse.  He pulled on a pair of dragon-hide gloves and began attending to his stinging nettle.  Those stingers could get quite pesky when overgrown. 

            “Ha ha, very funny.”

            “Thank you.  Being a comedian was my fallback if potions didn’t work out.  Hey--watch out for the for the Venomous Tentacula vines.  They can be a little frisky with strangers.”

            Blaise drew his hand away from the plant.  “Seriously, do I have to come over here and push you into the fireplace?”

            “You could just stop inviting me.  Then I’ll stop disappointing you.”

            “Or you could keep your word for one dinner.”

            Draco moved on to the dittany.  He tried his best to take time to send a few vials over to Madame Pomfrey when he could.  The sixth years always managed to deplete the hospital wing’s supply during Apparation training. 

            “Would you get off my back if I told you I saw one of our friends the other day?”

            Blaise crossed his arms.  “Depends on if I believe you or not.”

            Draco smirked.  This was going to get him.  “I saw Astoria yesterday.”

            “Astoria?  As in Astoria Greengrass?”

            “The one and only.”

            “You’ve got to be kidding me.  Flint’s party was the first appearance she’s made since getting back, and the second one she makes is seeing _you_?”  Blaise could not keep the shock out of his voice. 

            “We were friends back at Hogwarts.”

            “She was friends with everyone.”

            “Yeah, but it was different with me I think.  She was the only one who knew I was into this ‘egghead stuff’ at Hogwarts.”

            Blaise propped his elbows on Draco’s workbench and smiled.  “Aww, does Draco have a crush on the pretty Miss Greengrass?”

            Draco tossed a balled-up rag at Blaise.  “It’s not like that.  I mean, yeah, I liked her a little during school, but every guy did.  And I grew out of that a long time ago.”

            “Alright, alright, sure you did.” Blaise plucked the rag off his shoulder.  He checked his watch and grimaced.  “Hey, I’ve got to get going, but I’ll floo back over around seven for the ‘cinema’ thing.”

            “Sounds fine.  Hey before you go—” Blaise stopped in the middle of the door “--do you know what the cinema is?”

            “Mary made it sound like a painting but the background changes and the people follow a script like at the theater.”

            “Then why not go to the theater?”

            “That’s what I said!”

            Draco laughed and went back to pruning his Asphodel.  Muggles customs really were strange.

 


	3. Flashback: The Reading of the Will

        A month after the war, Draco’s father was in Azkaban, and his mother was traveling the world.  Mrs. Malfoy had wanted Draco to join her, but he had refused the offer, a choice Draco still could not give a good reason for making. 

        Being the only Malfoy left meant that certain responsibilities now fell on his shoulders.  One of those responsibilities was attending the readings of last wills—even if the witch who had passed was his mother’s friend.

        The reception was a small affair.  Extravagance still felt unnatural, and this was a congregation mostly composed of middle-aged women.  Without their demanding husbands, things tended to remain more understated.

        There was however one wizard Draco’s age.  When he eventually noticed Draco blending into the background, they exchanged a tepid nod.  Blaise Zabini quickly finished the conversation he was engaged in and approached Draco.  He looked the old classmate up and down. 

        “For a Malfoy, you look terrible right now,” Blaise said cooly.

        “Which means I still look better than anyone else here,” Draco said, moving a stray piece of stringy hair out of his eyes. 

        They boys stared at each other before cracking a smile.

        “It’s good to see you again, Malfoy.”

        “The same goes for you.  It’s been a spell, hasn’t it?” Draco asked.

        “Indeed, a lot has happened.  Although I did not see you at the Goldstein’s party last week.  Where were you?”

        Draco tugged at his collar.  “You know… off.”

        Blaise raised an eyebrow.  “Uh-huh.  Do you know where you’re going to do in the fall career wise?”

        “I’ve got an entry-level ministry job lined up.”

        “That’s good to hear… The Goldstein’s party was actually quite nice.  You should come to the next one.”

        “I don’t know,” Draco mumbled, “I went to the Roldolphuses dinner a couple weeks ago.  These things, they feel kind of off.”  Or he felt off.  The closer Draco was to his old life, the more Draco acted like his old self.  And he did not like that version of himself much anymore. 

        Blaise picked up a glass of champagne off a tray a house-elf held up.  “Now I’m not disagreeing with you, but don’t be so quick to write us all off.  The rest of Wizarding Britain hates us.  You need some friends that are going to have your back—at least for now.”

        Draco followed Blaise’s lead and took some champagne as well, muttering an unsure thanks to the house-elf.  He ignored the burning feeling of embarrassment and the look of surprise from Blaise.  “I’ll keep that in mind, Zabini.  In the meantime, I’ll work on getting some _one_ to trust.  What do you think?”

        Draco lifted his glass in offering.  Blaise stared at it for a fleeting moment before jovially clinking his own glass against Draco’s.  Droplets of the expensive drink fell onto the antique wood flooring.  “It’s a better start than nothing.”


	4. Tiramisu's More Trouble Than it's Worth

        Head drooping forward and eyes halfway shut, Draco leaned his back against the cabinets in the staff break room.  It was his turn to watch the tea kettle today, but asking Draco to get anything done at 5 a.m. was like asking Blaise to stop being insufferable.

        Draco thought’s drifted.  He vaguely thought about the film he had seen with Blaise last weekend.  It had been a rather entertaining narrative about pirates and mystery and all those lovely things.  Maybe not historically accurate—there was a distinct lack of wand waving on board—but Draco was willing to look past it.  The movie was intended for those muggles after all. 

        “Draco!” Meryl yapped.  Draco started from his morning stupor.  Rubbing his eyes, the piercing scream of the tea kettle filtered back into his senses.  He pointedly stared at Meryl Moore, a lead healer and his apparent alarm clock, for a moment before taking the kettle off the stovetop. 

         “Tea’s ready,” Draco said, not sure if he was talking to himself.  Either way, one healer got up and grabbed the kettle after Draco.  The two maneuvered around each other, reaching over for saucers and sugar at the exact wrong time.  Just another day at Mungos.  Just how Draco liked it. 

        Draco pulled out a rickety chair at Meryl’s table.  He took a long sip from his earl grey with a satisfied smile.  At least this comfort would never leave him. 

        “You look like the undead.  When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?” Meryl commented.  She held her hand against Draco’s chin, nudging his face back and forth so that she could inspect his tired pallor and pronounced bags.

        Draco lifted his arm toward his coworker.  “Blehhhh—mmm” his mocking groan muffled itself as he took a sip from his tea.  “I’m going for the vampire look.  Witches go wild for it.”

        Meryl pinched his cheek before dropping her hand.  She had worked at Mungos for over thirty years and gained the habit of taking new employees under her wing.  Draco had been a challenge however, making their bond all the stronger for it.

        Her hand gone, Draco sunk into the creaky chair so he could properly enjoy his beverage.  He was roused once again by an elbow in his side.  Draco opened one eye.

        “Let’s see if you can prove yourself and your ‘look’” Meryl said.  Fellow healer Lorraine Elric had entered the staff room with a new recruit, a peppy redheaded witch.  The recruit looked around the dingy room with undue exuberance—classic sign of a muggleborn.  Draco watched the girl’s naivety with a certain passivity.  No matter how time passed, some things never changed in Muggleborns.  Although Draco admitted there was something to appreciate in their behavior.  What would it be like to experience magic as something new and exciting?

        “And this is our staff room.  Not much, but it’s a good place to rest during break,” Lorraine said.  She checked something off her clipboard, her eyes never quite leaving the paper. 

        “It’s perfect,” The recruit beamed.  She was wearing forest green robes—a distinction of her apprentice status.  Only full-fledged healers were granted the, er, coveted lime green robes.  Draco thanked God every day that he wasn’t required to those ghastly outfits. 

        Meryl smiled.  “Well we’re glad you like it.”

        The recruit’s smile grew wider—if that was even possible—at being acknowledged.  She hovered uncertainly next to Lorraine.  At Lorraine’s nod, the recruit bolted to Draco and Meryl’s table.

        She stuck out her hand, and Meryl gladly received it.  “I’m Piper Walsh.  It’s nice to meet you.”

        “Nice you meet you too, Piper.  We hope you enjoy your time here,” Meryl said, elbowing Draco again to indicate who was partnering her in the ‘we.’  Piper looked at Draco expectantly.

        Draco sipped his tea.  “I’m the potions master.  Send me a memo if there is ever a potion you cannot prepare yourself.”  General potionmaking was the healers’ responsibility.  Draco came in when there were too many orders to handle or when there was a potion that took longer than a day to brew. 

        “Um, I’ll be sure to!  Thank you.”  Piper held her hands in front of herself, unsure where else to put them.  How strange must it be to feel insecure about something as simple as where to put her hands.

        “Hey.” Draco held out his hand.  “Don’t be nervous.  We don’t bite.”

        “Not anymore at least, but watch out for the patients,” Meryl said.

        Once Piper realized the two were teasing her, she shook Draco’s hand with a laugh. 

        Draco heard something snap.  Still at the doorway, Lorrain inspected her broken quill.  “Oh drat, not again.  Let’s go ahead and move on, Piper.  I need to grab a new quill.” Piper shuffled back over to her guide.

        “Bye Lori,” Meryl said.  Draco lifted a hand in farewell as the others in the staff room voiced their goodbyes. 

        “See you Meryl—oh and Evan, Serenity, Draco.”

        Piper stiffened and urgently patted Lorraine’s shoulder as they exited.  “Draco? Like Draco Malfoy?” He could hear her fretting.

        Draco set down his tea.  Suddenly he didn’t need to be woken up.

        “Draco—” Meryl began.

        “I’m going to go down.  There’s a load of memos from the night shift waiting for me.”  He grabbed his deep purple cloak.

        “Oh Draco, you know that girl doesn’t—”

        Draco sighed.  “I know, but I’m not in the mood to convince witches I’m not crazy.  Come down on your lunch break if you want.  I made some tiramisu, your favorite.”

        Down in the basement, Draco attended to the cauldrons he had left overnight.  A sprig of mint here.  A few turns clockwise there.  Not many Mungos potions took longer than a few hours to brew, but a few niche concoctions required the extra time. 

        Draco picked up his only memo from his desk:  Grabbed your spare Skele-gro.  Hope that’s alright!

        Skele-gro, for instance, was a forty-eight hour process.  He pulled another cauldron from his cabinet and stuck it under the faucet.  While the cauldron filled up, Draco grabbed a long knife and a Chinese Chomping Cabbage from the icebox.  After adding half of the cabbage and a pint of milk to the cauldron, Draco set the mixture on his assembly line of burners. 

        Everything in order, Draco glanced at the cauldron bubbling on his personal worktable.  Judging by the low, black smoke that poured over the edges, Draco needed to scrap that batch.  The motivation to do so, however, was not there.  What was the point of Draco’s continuous experiments?  This goal that Draco had set out to accomplish… most men died trying.  Failure after failure. 

        Draco looked at the ceiling.  He imagined Piper grimacing when she shook hands with the Bulstrode’s boy who came in routinely to treat his cursed cough—a generational condition.  Failure after Failure. 

        Eventually the first memo came in, a steady pace of requests coming in after that.  Draco worked as efficiently as ever, yet he didn’t lose track of time like he normally could.  When the clock chimed twelve, Draco actually took notice of the noise.  He was glad to put his crushed roots down and grab his lunch from its place next to the newt spawn in the icebox.

        Draco had just sat down when he heard the click of heels.  Their identity was unmistakable, but they were slightly surprising.  He had not seen Astoria since she had marched down his hallway a week ago, and he’d begun to think she might not show up again.

        Astoria lifted her arms in presentation of herself. 

        “What are you doing?” Draco asked, his arm stuck down his lunch sack. 

        “Well I didn’t have my customary fifteen servants to announce my arrival, so I had to do it myself,” Astoria said with a straight face.

        “Ha ha.  You’re hilarious,” Draco smirked, “Now what are you doing here?  I figured you’d drop by the Manor if you wanted to say hi.”

        “You said yourself that you’re here more than home, so this felt like a safer bet.”

        “Got me there.”

        “Plus my aunt’s back at St. Mungos.  She’s a bit of a hypochondriac.”  Astoria waved the detail away as if Draco had pulled it out of her.

        “Which aunt is this?” 

        “She’s on my mother’s side.  You don’t know her.”

        “Oh, okay.”  Draco was unsure why Astoria brought her aunt up again if Draco didn’t even know her.  He unwrapped his sandwich and slowly took a bite while Astoria watched him. 

        “So?” Astoria asked.

        “So?” Draco echoed, his mouth full.

        Astoria stared at Draco for a moment.  She opened her mouth, and then closed it.  Draco almost asked her if anything was wrong when she spoke:

        “Are you going to share or what?” Astoria grabbed Draco’s spare stool and placed it firmly beside him.  “I was hoping to go out to grab lunch, but I guess this’ll do.”

        Draco handed Astoria the other half of his sandwich before she could steal it from him.  “I’m glad it passes your standards.”

        Astoria scrunched up her nose at him before chomping down on the sandwich.  As she ate, Astoria swung her legs back and forth, in rhythm with her chews.  Draco bit back on a smile, knowing she would stop if he acted out of the ordinary.  Still, it was sweet to see that pureblood training had not broken her quirks.   

        After eating their sandwich, Astoria’s legs stopped swinging.  She played with her fingers, as if choosing her next words carefully.  “…The Rosiers are having a little get-together this Friday. I was wondering if you’d want to come.” 

        Draco considered the idea, Blaise’s nagging in the back of his mind.  There was truth to Blaise’s words.  The purebloods were the only ones who understood what Draco was going through, who would understand what it was like to have that         Piper girl turn on him at the mention of his name.  The purebloods were like a blanket of security.  If you were one of them, you felt protected.

        Yet at the same time… Draco could hear what wizards like Rosier and Flint would say if they had seen Piper and her excitement.  He could see their false pretenses, feel the chill of fine china that was as icy as their words. 

        “I told you I don’t go to those things.” 

        “Yeah, well I just thought that maybe if you had a friend you’d go.” 

        “I have friends, Astoria.” 

        “Yeah?  Like who?”  It wasn’t accusing, Astoria was merely surprised.  Clearly, she had heard chatter from the other purebloods. 

        “Blaise Zabini.” 

        “Blaise?

        “It’s a wonder what a war will do to change your opinion of a person.”  In their school years, the one individual Draco had disliked the most besides Potter and his assorted muck was Blaise.  From an already low-tier pureblood family that was tainted further by his mother’s many suspicious marriages, Blaise’s ability to win over their social circle on appearance and charisma alone infuriated Draco back then.  With a bit of sobering hindsight however, Draco recognized that Blaise was essentially a more enjoyable person than himself back then, and enjoyable people were a rare commodity in the pureblood community.

        Astoria nodded her head.  “It’s nice to hear that.  I always thought you guys might be good friends if you ever got over your egos.”

        “You always had a knack for that sort of thing.”

        “For knowing who would get along well?  I did have quite the reputation for matchmaking, didn’t I?”  Astoria smiled.

        “For having faith in people,” Draco said. 

        Astoria’s smile became strained.  Realizing that her hands were empty, Astoria rummaged around in the lunch sack, the crumpling of the bag filling the quiet. 

        “Oooo.”  With a large flourish, Astoria produced the tiramisu Draco had made.  “Your mother’s tiramisu?  Can I have some?” 

        “Actually I made it, and no. I’m saving it for Meryl.” 

        “Meryl?  Is there a witch in your life that you haven’t told me about?” Astoria set the tiramisu down and rested her chin on her hands. 

        Draco could feel himself blush.  “No, she’s more like an overbearing aunt than anything else.  I’m definitely not looking for a relationship.

        Worried that this news might disappoint Astoria, Draco was surprised to see Astoria’s smile only widen.  Well goodness, she didn’t have to look that happy about it.

        “Now that’s dishonest of you, Draco,” Meryl said.

        Draco almost jumped out of his skin.  “Merlin’s beard!”  Those silly sensible shoes, making sure Draco couldn’t hear anyone approaching him!

        Meryl stood in the door, and Draco could tell by the bright look in her eyes that she was loving the scene she had caught Draco in:  Her reclusive, potion-making protegee sharing his lunch with an incredibly beautiful young witch?  The news would be circulating throughout the hospital within the hour. 

        “Dishonest?  What did he say now?” Astoria leapt into the conversation despite only having a vague notion of who she was talking to.

        “It was only this morning that Draco was telling me about how witches love that haggard appearance he has going on.” Meryl put a hand to the side of her mouth. “which is honestly a stretch if you ask me.”

        Astoria openly giggled.  Torn between arguing that Draco’s statement meant nothing about dating witches, defending his appearance, and explaining that Astoria was only a friend, he did not speak at all.  Instead he sunk into his chair, face burning red while the women talked. 

        “You must be Meryl,” Astoria said.

        Meryl held a hand to her heart in honor.  “Oh, Draco’s mentioned me?”

        “How couldn’t he?  He was just telling me about how he made this tiramisu for you,” Astoria held out the cup in offering, which Meryl graciously accepted.

        “Oh isn’t he the sweetest thing?  Considerate and he can cook.”  Draco sunk further into his chair.  This was it.  He was going to die.  Right there and now. 

        “If you think his cooking is good, you should ask him to sing for you sometime.  Classically trained, voice of an angel.”  Astoria caught his eye, letting him know that she fully knew what she was doing. 

        “Really?  He’s never mentioned that he could sing before!”

        The women chatted back and forth for a few more minutes before Meryl left with these parting words.  “I’ll let you two get back to each other!”

        Once Meryl was gone, Draco completed his descent to the floor.  “ughhhh.” He groaned over Astoria’s laughter.  “You just murdered me.  I’m done for.”

        “Maybe, but that was hilarious.”  Astoria held her sides while she laughed.  If Astoria glowed when she smiled, she was radiant when she laughed. 

        “I’m glad my pain is so funny to you,” Draco said, never taking his eyes off Astoria, “Now can you help me up?”

        “One.  Second.” Astoria said in between laughs.  Eventually Astoria helped him up, her hands lingering on his for a moment, but Draco knew that was because she was getting over another fit of giggles.

        They finished lunch, mostly going back and forth of the severity of Astoria’s crime.  Despite the massive embarrassment she had put him through, Draco still had a warm feeling in his chest.  Sure, Pipers would always be in his life--they were the natural consequences for what he did those years ago--but if there were people like Astoria, Meryl, Blaise too, then maybe the world was not so bad.  When Draco looked at the clock, he realized he was thirty minutes over his lunch break. 

        “I’ve got to get back to work!” Draco waved his wand to disappear the trash and went to the sink to wash his hands.  “You can stay if you’d like, Astoria, but I won’t be able to talk.”

        “That’s alright.  I’ve got places to be.”  Astoria stood.  “Thanks for letting me bum off your lunch though.”

        Draco dried his hands.  “Don’t mention it.  I like the company…  don’t mention that to Blaise either.”

        Astoria smiled.  “Secret’s safe with me.”

        Though Astoria said she was leaving, she lingered in the room.  Draco resisted the urge to ask as he attended to all of his cauldrons.  When he looked up, she averted her eyes.

        “Hey um, would you ever be willing to go somewhere if it didn’t involve pureblood stuff?” Astoria asked. 

        Draco pondered this as he ground up an assortment of animal claws.  “And literally no one there knew me, maybe.” 

        “Cool, just wondering.”  And she ran out.

        Draco watched her retreating figure with a dopey grin.  Some people never changed.


	5. An Appointment With a Tailor

                _Just one drop…_ Draco’s hand tremored as he held a pipette full of dirigible plum extract above his cauldron.   Slowly but surely, a singular drop eeked out of the pipette and fell into the concoction brewing at a steady pace.  Draco took a break as citrus permeated the scent of the brew, which had more reminiscent of rotten eggs a moment ago.

                Already having paused for too long, Draco took a pinch of ground slate in his free hand and sprinkled it into the mixture as well, finishing it with five more drops of the dirigible.  Draco rubbed his hands together as he looked for a stirring rode.  This was where Draco was most alive.  The constantly changing scents.  The grainy texture that got stuck under Draco’s fingernails.  The uneven cadence of bubbling cauldrons.  Nothing else was like this.

                Stirring five times counterclockwise, Draco realized he had left an important ingredient in his stores.  He charmed the rod to stir in his absence and darted over to his ingredients collection.  He grabbed the doxy wings without a dashing thought of where they would be.  When the wings touched Draco’s concoction, they burst into flame, the ashes dispersing into the cauldron.

                “Are you going to tell me what you’re working on?” Astoria asked.

                Draco looked up from his cauldron.  Over the span of a month, Astoria’s visits had increased in their frequency.  Draco considered her a regular fixture of the lab, and though the healers’ teasing was embarrassing, Draco enjoyed her company.  It was like old times.

                “Maybe—if you tell me what you’re working on.” He nodded his head at the thick notebooks that cluttered a once-free stretch of his desk. 

                Astoria pushed her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose.  They were thin and wire-framed, not unlike the spectacles Madame Pince would wear—though Draco kept that to himself.  She had first appeared with them last week when Astoria began perusing Draco’s volumes on potionmaking, but that entertainment wore out quick. 

                “Do you remember what business my family’s in?” Astoria asked.

                Draco racked his brain.  Though old money was nice, every pureblood family had some sort of business or generational career path.  It was an effective way to maintain connections with powerful wizards and ensured that the brat children would get hired _somewhere_.  The difficulty came in remembering what business each family was affiliated with.  “I want to say textiles.”

                Astoria smiled.  “Exactly!  If you’re any respectable wizard, you’re probably wearing our _Eallgrene_ fabrics right now.”

                “Ah well I’ll have to ask my tailor next time I get fitted for robes.”

                “No need, I can tell if you are.”  She beckoned Draco with her hands.  “Come over here.”

                Draco came over.  Astoria took the edge of his sleeve, running her fingers over the fabric and stretching it a few times.  “Hmm, the exterior fabric is ours, but the interior… who is your tailor?”

                Draco held up his hands.  “I’m not ratting out my guy that easily.”

                Though she raised an eyebrow, Astoria let him be.  “Fine.  Then back to your question, I’m going through our sales records right now to check for any irregularities.  I’m in charge of running the numbers for _Eallgrene_.”

                “That’s a big position for someone so young.”  The Greengrasses had not struck Draco as a family practicing _unfair_ nepotism.

                “Well when Daphne and I lived in Korea with Mother, my paternal grandmother insisted that we perfected one of our ‘accomplishments’ to pair along with our schooling.  Daphne studied music composition.  I studied business,” Astoria giggled, a devilish glint in her eyes.

                Draco couldn’t help catching her laughter.  “I’m assuming that was not what your grandmother had in mind?”

                “Let’s just say she wasn’t thrilled to listen to my rambles on the muggle stock market.”

                “Haha, yeah… um, what’s a stock market?”

                Astoria’s jaw dropped so dramatically that her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose.  “I thought better of you, Malfoy.”

                Draco put a hand on the table and leaned toward Astoria, holding her gaze.  “Well then, enlighten me.”

                “Gladly.”  Astoria launched into a tirade consisting of words like “shares,” “liquidity,” “hedge,” and “yield,” which in any other context, Draco would have connected to running a farm.  When the words began to blend together, Draco focused on how passionate Astoria was about this subject, which helped him listen. 

                By the end of Astoria’s speech, it was long after Draco’s lunch break, and he was far behind on orders. 

                “You can stick around if you want, but I won’t be able to pay attention to your follow-up lesson on international trade.”  Draco went around bottling the potions that had matured during their conversation. 

                “It’s all right.  I need to focus on getting these records done anyway.  See you later.”

                “See you.”  Once Astoria left, Draco glanced over to his private cauldron and frowned.  A bright orange steam was emitting from the cauldron—another failed attempt.  _That’s what you get for being distracted._

                Although, Draco did not mind too much.

 

-=-=-=-

 

                “A clump of something; aka the manipulative for a popular children’s game?” Draco read aloud from his half-filled crossword, lying out across his couch. 

                “How many letters?” Blaise asked.  He stared at the wizard’s chess board in front of him before smirking slyly.  “Bishop to F6.”

                “Thre—”

                “—Boo that!” Mary shouted when she realized what her boyfriend had done.  She groped around the couch behind her, chucking a pillow when she found one.  It sailed past Blaise and struck Draco’s face.

                 “That’s too many letters,” Draco said under the pillow.  He took the pillow off and tossed it to cover his feet.  It was a rainy morning at Malfoy Manor, and Draco was too stubborn to go grab a blanket.  The throws in the parlor were as thin as mist anyways.

                Blaise laughed.  “Snooze you lose, darling.”

                Mary crossed her arms with an unconvincing pout.  Even when feigning annoyance, Mary couldn’t keep a smile off her face.  “I still don’t have to be happy about it.”

                “You’re right.” Blaise leaned across the sofa table to push back a piece of Mary’s strawberry blonde hair.  “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

                “I believe I said the word was three letters!” Draco said.  This puzzle wasn’t going to finish itself.

                Pushing away Blaise’s hand, Mary thought for a moment.  “Gob.  Like in Gobstones.”

                Draco scribbled in the letters.  _G-O-B._ “Fits perfectly!  You’re a gem.”

                “Don’t mention it.  Rook to E6.”

                And with that move, the couple began their faux argument all over again.  This was a familiar soundtrack for Draco’s Saturday mornings.  Ever since Blaise had started seeing Mary a year ago, her presence was constant.  Luckily, Mary and Draco were fast friends.  She was an American witch who arrived knowing little about the War and who was involved.  Turns out Draco could be good with people when they didn’t know he was an acquitted criminal.

                With the new letters, Draco filled in a couple more words, his attention drifting away soon after.  The outer wall of the parlor was more window than wall, and Draco could see his greenhouse through the drizzle.  Common English Ivy was growing up the sides of the greenhouse.  Its leaves sometimes obscured sunlight, but Draco let the plants remain for their air filtration.

                _Air filtration—ivy?_  Draco scribbled the note down in the margins of his crossword.  With his current experiment, Draco was struggling to find a solution that would leech impurities from his solute.  The concentration gradient just did not match up after a certain point.  Speaking of leeching impurities… _Flesh eating slugs?_

                Draco scribbled a couple more ideas onto his paper before he was satisfied.  He turned his head to Blaise and Mary.  Chess was long over, and they were snuggled together on the other couch, napping the morning away.  Draco smiled.  Guess he couldn’t question them about 32 Down.

                Behind him, Draco heard a familiar crackling sound and out of the corner of his vision, there was a glow of green.  Draco furrowed his brows.  Blaise and Mary were already here.  Who else would be flooing in?

                Draco sat up and… of course.  Astoria Greengrass was dusting ashes off her shoulders, still standing in the fireplace.

                “Ah!  Lori said you… would be here,” Astoria tapered her sound at the sight of Blaise and Mary asleep.  She smiled sheepishly and before stepping onto the hardwood floor, Astoria took off her heels.  She padded over to Draco quietly. 

                “What are you doing here?” Draco asked.  True, Astoria had not been invited to her frequent visits at Mungos, but a visit to his home was different.  Without an extremely close rapport, an invite, or an emergency, people did not “show up” to a pureblood’s home.  Not that Draco was unhappy to see his friend—confused worked best.

                Astoria took a seat on the couch.  “Do you remember how you said you’d be willing to go somewhere with me if it didn’t include purebloods?”

                “Yes…” Draco said, unsure what he was getting into.

                “I have a place where we could go.”

                “Oh… really?”

                “Yeah, I have meetings for a couple days with some of my Father’s business partners in Bulgaria while he’s away in America, and he wants me to bring someone along.”

                Draco paused.  “And you chose me?”

                Astoria nodded her head uncertainly, which was strange because Astoria was never uncertain.  “Who else?  My grandmother cannot stand Eastern Europe, and Daphne is not a good traveling partner.  You were the obvious choice.” 

                “I’m flattered then, but when would it be?  I can’t have it conflict with work,” Draco asked, completely aware that he had a month’s worth of vacation days. 

                “The next two days.  Sunday and Monday to be exact,” Astoria said, “I already asked the front desk if you were free those days.” 

                Slick, dragging Draco’s coworkers into this.  They might kill Draco if he walked into work on Monday, knowing he got an offer from an extremely beautiful witch to skip out for the weekend. 

                Draco considered Astoria.  There was no good reason to turn her down.  She had been a friend of Draco’s for years.  So why was he holding back?

                Draco thought about it, avoiding eye contact, when he noticed Mary watching them with her eyes wide open.  Though Mary’s body remained completely still, her eyes held an obvious threat of disturbing their conversation, and that threat was contingent on Draco’s answer.

                “I don’t see why not,” Draco said.

                Astoria grinned and gave Draco a bear hug.  She smelled like vanilla and licorice, something Draco remembered from school.  “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun!”

                “Astoria, this isn’t date you’re bringing me on?” Draco asked.

                Astoria shook her head enthusiastically.  “Of course not, but make sure to bring some nice Muggle clothes for meals.  I’ve been to this city with Father before, and there’s some amazing restaurants.”

                “Oh—”

                “—Hnnn.” Blaise began stirring.  He blinked his eyes slowly and then more rapidly at the sight of Astoria.

                “Hi Blaise.  I’ll be here at eleven tomorrow morning.”  Astoria grabbed a handful of floo power and stepped into the fireplace.  “See you guys, _Greengrass Manor_!” 

                And Astoria disappeared in a burst of flames.

                Blaise stared at the fireplace.  “What in the world did I just sleep through?”

                Mary peeked her eyes open.  “Can I wake up then?”

                Blaise groaned.  “Am I the only one who missed what just happened?”

                “Yes, but you didn’t miss much.” Draco stood up and stretched his arms out towards the sky.

                Mary scoffed.  “As if!  Draco here just agreed to spend the weekend in Bulgaria with this _Astoria_ woman.”

                Blaise raised an eyebrow.  “The same ‘it’s just a friend’ Astoria?”

                “Come off it!  It’s just a business trip—you know the Greengrasses work in textiles.” Draco looked at his sleeve.  It may not be a date, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to get a few new robes.


End file.
